Little Little John
by Sound of Her Wings
Summary: In which John has mysteriously shrunken to 6 inches tall, and completely challenged Sherlock's view of the world. Translated into English, a very cute mini John and Sherlock's utterly baffled!
1. Chapter 1

_**Little Little John**_

_-for my beloved BBC Sherlock_

Written by my friend Christina Chang in Chinese, translated by me, Maria J Ma. Authorised!

Author's note: I am not a John/Sherlock fangirl! I support Irene/Sherlock. But what Benedict said,"Martin would make a wonderful pet" was so cute and irresistable...And cute little Martin-John is also all too irresistable, and I just couldn't help writing this...

Translator's note: I am totally a John/Sherlock fangirl...Enjoy!

Please, please review, this means a lot to me and my friend Chris! Please?

**Warning: Exasperated John means some loud cursing..**.

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><p><em><strong>Chapter 1 Of Course I Damn Know That Even If I Stand On The Table I Cannot Reach His Pajama Pocket<strong>_

"How on earth can I know what the hell happened to me! For God's sake, YOU are the detective!"  
>Sherlock sat completely still with a weird expression on his face, staring at the palm-sized, desperately stomping mini John on the table. "F**k! Stop ravaging your mind for a reasonable explanation to prove this situation unreal! Stop thinking about that stupid 'supernatural' theory! Think of a way to get me back to normal!"<br>Sherlock still sat there like a statue, staring at John with a weird expression, while John waved his tiny fist in the air, jumping up and down and still unable to reach even his friend's pajama pocket.  
>After a very long moment, Sherlock finally twisted his lips a teeny bit, and said with a slightly trembling voice: "John, you have finally succeeded in challenging my ability to comprehend the situation. I cannot acknowledge what is happening right now."<br>"But it is happening, Sherlock! I am right here standing in front of you, and damn it, I am only 6 inches tall now!"  
>The mini John finally succeeded in grasping Sherlock's pocket after many futile attempts. Rasping to catch his breath, he put his feet on Sherlock's thigh and started rocking Sherlock's pocket with all his might,:"I can only tell you how exasperated I am in this manner!"<br>Sherlock looked down at John who was vigorously swinging on the edge of his pajama pocket. His face looked inscrutinizable.

He had been sleeping after he had came back from his midnight case till 8:42 in the morning, then woken up by a creepy rustling sound with some low shouts. When he got up and walked to the table, the 6-inch miniature John shouting by a plate finally grasped his attention.  
>Although on the surface he still looked calm and composed, the appearance of a shrunken John was undoubtedly the single case that got him beaten, and generated his suspicion of what he has always sternly believed in.<br>What a f**king weird world.  
>=========================================<p>

The light London mist floated through the window into the flat of Baker Street, going around and leaving a wet, cool trail. Everything looked as calm as it can get: the aroma of coffee in the air; the cracking wood in the fireplace, casting the dancing shadow's on their faces.  
>Everything looked serene and normal.<br>Which itself was definitely abnormal.  
>Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes and John Watson were sitting silently on the sofa, as if trying their best to make the atmosphere even more whimsical.<br>Sherlock was curled up on his sofa, his head bowed, fingers steepled, fingertips at his chin-his usual thinking posture. Mycroft has changed his usual languid look, and was sitting up straight, arms elegantly resting on the arms of the sofa, one hand holding his omnipresent black umbrella.  
>John sat, rigidly on the tea table between the Holmes brothers-wait, why the tea table?<br>When the poor doctor realised that he had been plucked up by Sherlock to put on the tea table while still maintaining his baby-ish hand-on-curled-up-legs position, he jumped up abruptly.  
>"John, don't get angry, being your current size, it's impossible to break him out of his meditation." Mycroft stopped his upcoming snarl right at the moment. "Of course I damn know that even if I stand on the table I cannot reach his pajama pocket!" John stomped angrily, the impact shaking the mugs on the tea table,"but why must I sit on the tea table and put up with this whimsical atmosphere!"<br>"Who first created 'this whimsical atmosphere'?"Mycroft raised his eyebrows.  
>"Mycroft, I did not voluntarily shrink to 6 inches!"<p>

"John."Sherlock's baritone suddenly sounded somewhere up him.  
>He turned around and looked up, expecting as usual to see Sherlock's half-closed light grey eyes, but was met with his narrow nostrils.<br>He discovered, defeatedly, that he was forced to observe the world from a very special angle.  
>"Tell me, what happened between your going to bed yesterday and your appearing on the table this morning?"<br>"I remember complaining on the way to my bedroom, then instantly falling asleep..."  
>Sherlock kept still and silent.<br>"When I was woken up by the cold, I found myself on the pillow, which then could have been bigger than my bed. It took me a long time to realise what had happened, then I decided to get you for help."  
>"You were on the table when I saw you."<br>"I wanted to shout for you at first, but voice has shrunk with my body, so I spent half an hour literally climbing down the stairs, another half an hour to climb onto the table to push off a plate or a mug to make enough sound to get your attention."

Sherlock fell silent once again, the dancing fire reflected in his pale grey eyes.  
>========================================<p>

Time went passed, and John's patience was wearing thin. Normally he could just walk away, but now he had to endure the silence, the whimsical atmosphere and the pain in his butt caused by that cold and hard and uncomfortable tea table.  
>He knew that Sherlock was unlikely to come up with any explanation for his sudden change, so it would be better to just break the silence.<br>Then he looked up at Mycroft and decided to interrupt Sherlock's thoughts.  
>Mini John stood up, took a few steps towards the edge of the table, and leapt, succesfully landing on Sherlock's leg.<br>Mini John raised his head, ignored the narrow nostrils which blocked his sight, and observed Sherlock's expression. Unaltered. So he climbed up Sherlock's pajamas, grasping the fabric for support.  
>When he reached his pajama pocket, John realised that he looked like a kitten trying to get its master's attention.<br>But Sherlock's expression was still unaltered.  
>John turned his head at Mycroft, and found him staring and straining to suppress a laugh.<br>He instantly felt like a ridiculous pet being watched.  
>"Can't you just help he and pat him or something?"<br>"I believe you do know that Sherlock cannot be influenced in the slightest when he's thinking, especially when his knowledge is being challenged." Mycroft's tone was serious, yet his face harboured a irritating smirk that said "Aha I want to see more of this funny situation".  
>John turned back angrily, put his tiny hands on Sherlock's shoulder, and tried to continue further up by using the rim of Sherlock's pocket as support.<br>"Pff." Mycroft couldn't help it then, and the laugh startled John. He lost balance, and slid into Sherlock's pajama pocket.  
>Mini John finally couldn't stand it anymore.<br>He curled up, knocked Sherlock's chest through his pajamas, and yelled: "F**K! You take me to the toilet right now or I will just make do with your pocket!"  
>Mycroft laughed louder:"Have your personality changed too when you shrunk? You look exactly like the 5-year-old Sherlock now, John!"<br>Sherlock broke out of his meditation, looked down at the wriggling John in his pocket, and plucked him up by the collar without a word.  
>"Could you please stop doing that?" John reached out for Sherlock's fingers, "This doesn't exactly feel nice!"<br>"I haven't blamed you for interrupting me yet."  
>"What can you think up anyway?" John threw him a rightously angered glance,"You were not thinking about saving me, you were indulged in your own suspicion about the world!"<br>Sherlock's frown and dodging eyes comfirmed John's accusation. He knew he has done it a bit too harshly, as Sherlock has just encountered a heavy blow. Yet still, John him self was a man whose whole world just changed.  
>"You look different today."<br>_-Look different today?_  
><em>Bullshit! I have shrunk to 6 inches! I am being held up by your fingers! Did you expect me to be nice and ask you if you want tea so I could make some for you<em>?

[TBC]

My illustration for /art/I-Would-Like-To-Keep-Martin-As-A-Pet-290951256

I will update this when Christina does, this is all she had written so far :)


	2. Chapter 2 part a

**Chapter 2 is up!**

Written by my friend Christina Chang in Chinese, Translated by me, Maria J Ma

Disclaimer: How we wish they belong to us...

Summary: John gets hungry...and consequently very irritated.

I drew a pic for this long ago :ht tp: /saerwenapsenniel. deviantart. com/#/ d4t83fc (delete the blanks.)

_Hope you will enjoy this chapter! And please review! One review makes **both** of us happy!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 Is It Funny To Watch Me Dance On The Keyboard?<strong>

"Sherlock, I need to eat." The poor doctor raised his head helplessly. He rubbed his sore back, stretched his stiff limbs, then stared expectantly at his friend, who, in turn, was staring at the laptop's screen.  
>"Sherlock!" John raised his voice.<br>But Sherlock still sat undisturbed before his laptop, typing words into a Word Document, then furrowed his brows and squinted at the screen.  
>John successfully discovered a distraction-it was actually quite interesting to dip the toothpick in the ink and use it as a pen to write. He laboured to stifle his fear and anger through most of the day, and when the warm light of the setting sun cast its shadows on the walls of 221b, it finally became too hard for him to put up with the starvation.<br>Now he was smaller than a steak, and obviously he could not eat like a ordinary person, yet Mrs Hudson was still not back, and Mycroft claimed that he had "urgent matters to talk with the queen" and then left Baker Street.  
>Why did they all forgot to feed-No, to prepare food for him?<br>"SHERLOCK!" He shouted loudly, desperately casting his toothpick aside and rushed to his friend. The change in size had definitely pushed his temper to a more easily irritated state, and it occured to him that he was unable to control himself from getting angry.  
>John looked up, waved at Sherlock's nostrils, but of course Sherlock was unmoved. He was still typing fluently and continuously.<br>So John marched forward, and stepped accurately on the "shift" key.  
>Sherlock frowned. A whole line of capital letters has appeared on the screen, looking as if he was yelling in the Doc.<br>He finally looked down at the small figure on the keyboard,"Remember you are still heavy enough to weigh down a key, John."  
>"I am sorry to disturb, but I am hungry, Sherlock." John felt that he was too close to Sherlock's nose, he was really not in the mood to view its insides, so he shuffled to another spot.<br>The cursor started flashing, as John stepped on the Space Bar.  
>Sherlock looked at the screen grudgingly, pouted like a small kid throwing a temper, and blew at John.<br>The poor doctor was almost flipped over by the current, and Sherlock, taking advantage of the situation, tapped the Space Bar.  
>Poor little John fell over on a sequence of keys, typing endless lines of meaningless words on the screen.<br>"Oh f**k!" John glared at Sherlock angrily. He put his hands on more keys to hold himself upright, "Have you just developed a new habit of blowing air at me?"  
>Sherlock's eyes swept over the accumulating chaos on the screen, the tiny feet that were on the keyboard, the tiny hands that were on the keys, the tiny body that was wriggling in frustration, and then, abruptly, a tiny smile brought a tender curve to his lips.<br>He smiled.  
>John was dazed for a moment-this was the first time Sherlock had smiled since his accident. Then he stood up obediently, took a few steps, and stood by the long fingers resting on the mouse. Sherlock was cleaning up the mess John just made, and after deleting those meaningless letters, the results of his work was finally revealed to John.<br>Fairy tales about shrinking man, fantasy movies about dwarves, cartoons that contained shrinking magic...Sherlock was reading supernatural stories against his original belief, and was even adding his own annotations at places.  
>John felt warm. Like how one would feel to come back from a freezing snowstorm to wrap a blanket around his body and take a gulp of fiery whiskey.<br>"I thought that I could keep you alive and well on a toothpick and some scraps of paper." Sherlock noticed that John was staring at the screen, so he closed the laptop swiftly, as if trying to hide his embarrassment, "But it seems that you are not as easy to be sent off as Anderson is."  
>John could've swore that he saw a affectionate smile for one instant.<br>The next instant he was plucked up again. Sherlock walked to the kitchen, opening the door of the fridge to look for some bread.

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><p>I will update when Chris does ;p<p>

Sorry for any rushed grammar mistakes

Still, please review!


	3. Chapter 2 part b

**_Continued Chapter 2 (part b)_**

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><p>"There are no organs inside, are there?" John was alarmed,"I do not fancy seeing a finger the size of me."<br>"I won't let you see." Sherlock set John gently down on the kitchen table, and fetched some pieces of toast from the fridge,"How small do I have to slice them for you to eat?"  
>"...Sherlock, you are the detective, you can even figure out Irene Adler's measurements at first glance."<br>"But that's for a normal sized human."Sherlock protested, turning his face away from John.  
>As Sherlock was slicing the toast, the doorbell of 221b sounded.<br>"Would that be a client? You need to hide me!" John staggered around the plate to Sherlock, and grabbed hold of his sleeve.  
>"No client has a worse dental condition or is more in need of a slimming diet." Sherlock satirised his brother calmly, and put John in his pocket.<br>"Could you please not put me in your pocket?"John looked up, beyond the nostrils into those green-gray eyes. He felt increasingly like a toy.  
>Sherlock stopped short, threw John an impatient look, held John by the collar and put him on his shoulder, and continued down the stairs.<br>This made John think of the crane machine games placed at the gate of supermarkets for kids.  
>The bumpiness caused by the detective's going downstairs rocked and threatened John. He had to try hard to steady himself, and grabbed a handful of the detective's nearest curls.<p>

"You are answering the door in person?" Mycroft lifted an eyebrow,"So you can in fact manage without Mrs Hudson and John."  
>"You have came to 221b twice in a single day. I am glad to see that you're finally decided to lose some weight."<br>Mycroft ignored the sarcasm. He looked with half a smile at John, who was just about hanging in the air by a handful of dark curls.  
>"John, you remind me of my hair line."<br>"Wha-"John laboured to restrain his wish to stare at Mycroft's shining forhead and struggled to step on a solid shoulder once again.  
>"When he was young, he loved to hang on my back by my hair."Mycroft was smiling mildly.<br>John made great effort in picturing the scene, but all he could imagine was the suddenly retreating hair line.

"Now is not the time to indulge in the past, Mycroft. Since you have come, I need you to slice the toast."Sherlock interrupted. He turned around to go back upstairs. John noticed that he was resting a hand at his waist, as if preparing to catch him anytime if he should fell.  
>"Sherlock, you are becoming increasingly domestic."Mycroft commented as he caught up with them,"Maybe after some time you will need to walk into a supermarket, as no one can be your shopper now."<br>John saw a moment of evident suffering on Sherlock's face.  
>"Then I can only wish that the supermarket can be blessed with a murder."Sherlock replied while he turned around and handed Mycroft the bread knife.<p>

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><p>Please review! And point out grammar mistakes so I can correct them!<p> 


	4. Chapter 2 part c

_**Hi my dear readers! Chris actually wrote this part a month ago, but I've been too busy to translate! I am sorry I kept you waiting for so long! *bows***_

_**Again, this is unbeta-ed, so all mistakes belong to me, and please point them out so I can correct them :D**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

John stood near the basin, staring at the pouting Sherlock and Mycroft who was gently slicing the bread and could only be described as "virtuous"(quite on the domestic side, of course), and suddently felt warm in his chest.

He leant on the faucet, tying imaginary aprons on Sherlock and Mycroft in his mind, smiling and thinking that this dusk was extremely comforting in its own way-even in his darkest hours, he had friends with him.

"Do you need me to call Harry here?" Sherlock shot him a glance before focusing on ravaging the cupboards once more.

"That is clearly unnecessary. Why would you think of this in the first place?-if you are looking for plates, they are in the second to left cabinet."

Sherlocked eyed him again. He snickered quietly as he passed some plates to Mycroft.

"What?" John folded his arms and looked him, slightly irritated.

"No, sorry, it wasn't at you-" Sherlock looked toward his brother, "A certain someone has taken the matter into his own hands and called Harry."

Are the Holmes brothers never satisfied of chaotic situations...?

"Don't you worry, I've explained everything to her, and she said she's arriving just tonight. Everyone cares about his or her brother." Mycroft threw Sherlock a meaningful glance, while the latter stayed nonchalant on purpose.

What was that saying? John studied the Holmes brothers' faces silently-"When a hot face meets a cold butt?"***(see end of chapter)

He stared at the brothers, and decided not to bring the topic of Harry up again.

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><p>The night fell, and the sound of knifes and forks together with the cracking of the fire filled up 221B warmly. They sat by the table(and also on it), devouring their food silently.(In the rare occasions when neither John nor Mrs. Hudson is there to cook, dinner time becomes as unpredictable as the personalities of the Holmes brothers.)<p>

The light of the cars below flashed by the window. Sherlock and Mycroft put down their forks in unison.

"What?" John was holding a toothpick as if holding a gun, on the tip of the toothpick there was a teeny crumb of steak. He stared at the nervous Holmes brothers. Though confused, a sense of danger still rose immediately in his body.

Sherlock pursed his lips at Mycroft and tilted his chin. Mycroft sighed quietly before rising and walking to the door, pulling open the door of 221B.

Harry was standing dumbfounded outside the door, her hand still reaching out to press the doorbell.

"Hello, Miss Watson." Mycroft reached out his right hand politely.

Harry had the same soft blonde hair as John, and the same blue eyes, but she was not very pretty. She nodded and shook his hand obediently.

John rose from the napkin he was sitting on, walked to the edge of the table and looked towards the direction of the door, unable to determine in which way he should greet his sister.

Sherlock rose from his seat at the same time and stood by Mycroft.

"Would you like to have a look at John?" The brothers made way for Harry.

She stumbled a bit when she came in, and John felt bizarre.

He felt like a just-born baby in a delivery room, and Harry was a father, hearing the doctors say "Do you want to go in and have a look at your little baby boy?"

"Harry." He uttered the word just to make his 6-inch figure a bit more obvious to Harry.

"Oh!" Harry sighed when she saw John, "How adorable!"

-John could swear that it was the first time in his life that he heard his sister actually praise him. But as his sister usually displayed a very unusual taste in things, he somehow felt beaten.

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><p>"Miss Watson, do you need some rest?"Mycroft looked at his watch, "I don't think John will object to your using his room."<br>John looked at Mycroft in awe, the latter one, in turn, was looking at Sherlock with a subtle smile on his face.  
>He was totally baffled by the situation now.<br>Harry said something fuzzily, and walked in John's direction, then she waved her hand at him, trying to give him a hand-hug.  
>She was obviously drunk again.<br>Mycroft caught her mid-air just in time, and dragged her to the upstairs room.  
>"When had I agreed to this?"John shouted at Mycroft's back,"I've never slept in the same room with her since I was six!"<br>"Clearly you cannot sleep in your bed alone." Sherlock took in his now six-inch-tall figure, "We worry that you might slip down and get stifled by your quilt, or get lost."  
>"Then how and where can I rest?-Oh God!"He grasped Sherlock's words.<p>

Thus, John was carried into Sherlock's room, and was did not understand why Sherlock took a flat plate with him until he placed that plate near his pillow.  
>Sherlock eyed John and shrugged: "The plate is of proper size."<br>"..."He looked at Sherlock disbelievingly,"What do you think my back is made of?"  
>Sherlock took some cotton and a handkerchief out of his pocket:"Mycroft brings not only bollocks. Once in a while he brings some useful things."<p>

John tried hard not to think how it would be if he suddenly turns back to his normal size when he is sleeping on a plate by Sherlock's pillow.

"...Good night."  
>"Mmm."<br>What a strange night this would be.

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><p>-And morning.<br>The first thing Sherlock did when he woke up was instinctively checking the poor doctor on a plate.  
>But the plate held only cotton and a crippled handkerchief.<br>He sat up abruptly, and began shouting John's name.  
>"Please stop shouting, Sherlock." A feeble voice came from the nightstand on his right.<br>Seeing John, who was putting all his strength in folding Sherlock's shirt, he froze in the morning light.  
>Mini John intended to walk back onto the bed, but was caught by the shirt under his feet, and tripped, falling face-first into the soft dark purple fabric. He fell with a small "puff" sound.<br>Sherlock snickered.  
>He lifted John by the collar, and gingerly put him down on the pillow.<br>"Owww,"John protested as his bottom hit the pillow,"seeing that I am helping you clean the table and fold the shirts, can you give a bit of respect?"  
>The fog was just the right amount in the London air.<br>The golden morning sunshine suddenly broke free from the mists and shed its splendours into 221B.  
>Tranquil and beautiful.<p>

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><p>***: traditional Chinese idiom, which means someone is willing and arduous in helping another person and the said person paid him or her no attention whatsoever, let alone gratitude.<p>

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><p><em>Author's note: Why...why...why is this...weird, out-of control plot...OTL, weakened...<em>

**_...Did you like it? Please, please review! Your one review make two people happy! :D _**


	5. Chapter 3

**Hello! Dear Readers we are back... I am afraid this chapter is rather short, and this is the actual chapter three. So forgive my previous mistakes (I don't want to edit it because is so complicated.) Hope you enjoy all the same!**

**This is unbeta-ed, so any translation mistakes belong to me. Please point them out so I can improve. (: -Ria**

**Warning: Language isn't exactly the polite way I would like it to be.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 If Anyone Says About Not Wanting Me Back In Normal Size Again I Would Use His Pocket As My Lavatory<strong>

_A/N: This chapter is for the translator Maria, who is my motivation._

_Translator's Note: I am Maria, and dear fellow readers I acted on your behalf and bullied this chapter out of Chris..._

"Sherlock." Mycroft ignored the clear sign of disgust on his brother's face and pushed opened the door. Strolling in, he stood casually by the door, supported on his black umbrella.

"Once and once again I hear that poor umbrella grumbling about your weight." Sherlock looked sideways.

"Umbrellas don't talk. And you're well aware of that."

"Umbrellas can talk when their mission is to mock you." Sherlock curled up in his bed like a child, "I want to sleep."

"Sleep is the single most detested activity in your world." Mycroft shrugged, pulling out the shirt under John (leaving John flying and crushing to the trousers beneath) and threw it to Sherlock.

"Sleep can be liked when it's an element in the battle against you." Sherlock pulled the duvet up to cover his face.

"Murder. Rather nauseating way. Brains residue on the scene."

John saw a tiny movement in Sherlock's back.

"Murders and brains are stuffs of your liking, Sherlock." Mycroft continued after a glance at the time, "The man is currently lying on the paved ground of an alley. Lestrade informed that the body will be collected by Anderson in ten minutes."

John saw more movement in Sherlock's back.

"Lestrade is asking for your favour. He's too busy, and I know you want to go." Mycroft pulled out the trousers under John (this time leaving him falling down on the pillow underneath with a plump before he could react) and threw it to Sherlock.

"John. Let's go. Have a look at the spilt brains before the idiot Anderson turns up. Mycroft- I take this offer for the brains, not you." Sherlocked dived off his bed, plucking up John (who's not even straightened up from his last fall yet and looked extremely dishevelled), snatching the shirt and trousers with the other hand, and walked right past Mycroft out of the room.

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><p>The chirping of birds in winter, the chilly yet firm stone walls of London alleys, warm aroma of bread from bakeries at the street corners, flimsy fog moisting his hair, the safety he felt travelling on Sherlock's shoulders...<p>

John thought everything would be alright.

-At least that was the case before the cadaver was in sight.

-To give the body a proper inspection, Sherlock dumped John on the nearby ground as he crouched down to see the scattered brains.

When John recovered from the dizziness of zero-gravity, he turned around and then, only about a feet before him, was a immense cracked head. And then he realised - all he could see now was the exposed and spilt brains.

-F***, I should've known he wouldn't even remember me when he sees the brains!

**_TBC.  
><em>**

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><p><em>Sorry this is so short... Do you guys still want to read this story? Please R &amp; R! Thank you!<br>_


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